The city's all a-shining <br />Beneath a fickle sun, <br />A gay young wind's a-blowing, <br />The little shower is done. <br />But the rain-drops still are clinging <br />And falling one by one -- <br />Oh it's Paris, it's Paris, <br />And spring-time has begun. <br /> <br />I know the Bois is twinkling <br />In a sort of hazy sheen, <br />And down the Champs the gray old arch <br />Stands cold and still between. <br />But the walk is flecked with sunlight <br />Where the great acacias lean, <br />Oh it's Paris, it's Paris, <br />And the leaves are growing green. <br /> <br />The sun's gone in, the sparkle's dead, <br />There falls a dash of rain, <br />But who would care when such an air <br />Comes blowing up the Seine? <br />And still Ninette sits sewing <br />Beside her window-pane, <br />When it's Paris, it's Paris, <br />And spring-time's come again.<br /><br />Sara Teasdale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/paris-in-spring/
